1. I Have a Puppy Named Pickles.
Actually, Pickles is eight years old, but you'd have a tough job convincing him that he's not a puppy. Pickles is a pound puppy, or what is now called a rescue dog. He was almost a year and half when his original owner brought him to the animal shelter. She was sick and was afraid she wasn't going to be able to care for him much longer. Sparky and a friend stopped in the animal shelter and met Pickles, a black cocker spaniel, with a white chest (so he sort of looks like he's wearing a tuxedo) and fell in love.
Now, Pickles is a lover and a charmer. People tend to fall for him. His tail starts wagging and he's so excited to meet new people (we're all dog toys to him) and that tends to be infectious. A really friendly dog tends to bring out the best in people. Sparky went to play with him every night after work while he was trying to get me to agree to adopting a dog.
I was working full time, going to school four nights a week. We lived in a tiny little house that was sort of hard to navigate with it's four story open metal spiral staircase. We didn't have the time or space that a dog deserved. I think dog, I think grassy yard and kids and people to be around for him all the time. I thought a dog deserved better than we could give him. I wasn't thinking that if we didn't take him, he was more likely to be euthanized than find a family in the suburbs to love him, especially at a South Philly animal refuge. I couldn't be responsible for the death of any animal. The reason I avoid animal shelters is because I wouldn't be able to leave without as many puppies, bunnies, etc. as my little Honda Civic could hold. So, of course, I gave in.
Sparky brought Pickles home the following Sunday. I think he was hoping to be his big hero. Somehow, he expected Pickles to be eternally grateful to his savior and to live his life that way. The two of them walked into the house, Pickles charged for me and never looked back. He is a total mama's boy.
Actually, Pickles is eight years old, but you'd have a tough job convincing him that he's not a puppy. Pickles is a pound puppy, or what is now called a rescue dog. He was almost a year and half when his original owner brought him to the animal shelter. She was sick and was afraid she wasn't going to be able to care for him much longer. Sparky and a friend stopped in the animal shelter and met Pickles, a black cocker spaniel, with a white chest (so he sort of looks like he's wearing a tuxedo) and fell in love.
Now, Pickles is a lover and a charmer. People tend to fall for him. His tail starts wagging and he's so excited to meet new people (we're all dog toys to him) and that tends to be infectious. A really friendly dog tends to bring out the best in people. Sparky went to play with him every night after work while he was trying to get me to agree to adopting a dog.
I was working full time, going to school four nights a week. We lived in a tiny little house that was sort of hard to navigate with it's four story open metal spiral staircase. We didn't have the time or space that a dog deserved. I think dog, I think grassy yard and kids and people to be around for him all the time. I thought a dog deserved better than we could give him. I wasn't thinking that if we didn't take him, he was more likely to be euthanized than find a family in the suburbs to love him, especially at a South Philly animal refuge. I couldn't be responsible for the death of any animal. The reason I avoid animal shelters is because I wouldn't be able to leave without as many puppies, bunnies, etc. as my little Honda Civic could hold. So, of course, I gave in.
Sparky brought Pickles home the following Sunday. I think he was hoping to be his big hero. Somehow, he expected Pickles to be eternally grateful to his savior and to live his life that way. The two of them walked into the house, Pickles charged for me and never looked back. He is a total mama's boy.
2 comments:
I love Pickles and pickles.
Thanks for stopping by, Nessie. Yes, I love my crazy puppy Pickles.
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